


Dawn

by femellerklem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femellerklem/pseuds/femellerklem
Summary: Harry thinks about his parents as he cradles his best birthday present yet.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This story went through less editing than my stories usually do so I could post it on Harry’s actual birthday, so please forgive any mistakes or nonsensical things or what have you. It isn’t as much of a birthday fic as I originally intended, but part of it takes place on Harry’s birthday, it’s mostly about Harry, and it has a happy ending! So please enjoy anyway! (or not, I guess; I can’t control your mind).

Harry was maybe five or six when it happened. Dudley had been screaming “Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!” all morning, so Harry didn’t even notice it slip out until Aunt Petunia glared at him with a ferocity he’d never seen before. 

“I’m _not_ your mummy,” she said. “ _Never_ call me that again, do you hear me?”

“Yes, you’re screaming in my face.”

He spent the rest of the day in the cupboard and never used the wrong name again.

* * *

“But why don’t I have a mummy?” he asked the next day as Aunt Petunia wrote out Dudley’s birthday invitations. “Where is she?”

“She’s dead,” Petunia answered, slapping the last envelope on top of the pile. “She and your father died in a car crash when you were a baby. That’s all there is to it.”

“But—”

“Don’t ask questions,” she snapped. “It’s rude to pry into things that don’t concern you.”

“But they’re my parents. You must know something, don’t you?”

Aunt Petunia began to straighten the piles of envelopes.

“We didn’t see each other much. They died, Vernon and I let you live here, and that’s that.”

“But did they—”

_“Harry_ ,” she said, nearly slamming the envelope she’d been holding on the table. Harry was a bit taken aback being addressed as something other than “boy” or “you.” Aunt Petunia still didn’t look at him. “Stop being nosy and go put the dishes away. Now.”

* * *

He wouldn’t let himself think about his parents until he was hidden under the blankets in his cupboard, completely alone. He wondered what they looked like, what their voices sounded like, whether his mum had glasses like him or if his dad had black hair. He wondered if they would have hugged him and kissed him, like Aunt Petunia did to Dudley, or even if they would like him at all. They probably would. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to like Dudley, and he beat kids up sometimes.

Sometimes, he liked to imagine them bursting through the door and coming to take him away, somewhere he belonged. In his dreams, they were perfect, and wonderful, and kind, and soft-spoken, and warm, and gentle, and everything good except alive. He would dream dreams in that strange half-asleep stage so realistic they could have been memories. He dreamed about a pair of warm arms around him, holding him tight against a soft jumper of some kind, before he woke up and realized that the jumper was his blanket, and the arms were his own, and that his cupboard was actually very, very cold.

* * *

The older he got, the less he tried to think about them. Nothing can make you feel lost quite like losing something else, especially something you can’t even remember. He clung to the sole memory he had— the green light that may or may not have been real, and tried not to search for anything else. His parents were not lurking just beyond the fragmented whispers from his dreams to come and rescue him. They were dead, and they were never coming back. 

He lay awake at night after every dream about them, rubbing his eyes as hard as he could, as though he could force the false memories deep down inside, where they could never disappoint him again.

* * *

Many, many years later, he woke again to the sound of crying. But this time, it wasn’t his own. 

He noticed Ginny stirring. Her red hair was a messy splash of brightness against the pale sheets, shining in the barely-there light of the early dawn.

“I’ve got him,” he whispered, running his hand up her arm and squeezing her shoulder, gently pushing her back against the pillows. She let out a grateful sigh and took his hand to kiss it. 

“Happy birthday,” she murmured. Harry grinned and kissed her hand as well. 

The sunlight shimmered in the morning mist outside, just managing to sneak through the window in gentle slats of golden orange and come to rest on baby James. Harry crossed the room in two strides and picked up his son with ease, holding him carefully against his shoulder and shushing softly. James’s cries softened in just a few moments as Harry swayed and cradled his tiny head, breathing in the scent of his soft skin.

“Do you want to listen to the birds, Jamie?” he whispered. He strode over to the window and cracked it open just enough to feel the cool air and hear the ever-growing birdsong cut through the mist and soar over the countryside. Harry cradled James against his chest, turning so James could face the window and leaning down to kiss the top of his head. 

James was less than a month old, but already Harry couldn’t imagine how he’d ever been without him. Ever since James was born, even through the busy days and sleepless nights, Harry and Ginny had been in a state of happiness so complete, so overwhelming, so perfect; a happiness that seemed to reach its pinnacle in the quiet moments like these.

He could think about his parents in these moments, imagine what it might have been like for them, picture them holding him up to the window to watch the sunrise, and hear their coos and murmurs and singing to him reflected in his own voice when he talked to James. It would sound crazy if he ever said it out loud, but he could feel their love in a way that he hadn't since they’d walked with him to his death. It was as though he understood them completely, now that he had his own child to protect with everything he had.

Harry gazed down at James, who was now nestled against his neck, breathing in that adorable way that babies do, and couldn’t be more thankful that James had been born into a world of peace, the kind of peace he had never seen as a child, the kind of peace that his parents gave everything for. It was a disconcerting feeling sometimes, to know that he was older than his parents had ever been. He knew he’d feel the same way when James reached his second birthday, his second Christmas, his first day of Hogwarts. But he’d be there to see it all, and that was more than enough.

With James snuggled against him like this, his weight so perfect in his arms, Harry wanted to hold him and gaze at his beautiful face forever. He knew that James would inevitably get too big to be held, of course, but today was his birthday, and he would bask in denial if he wanted to.

He turned away from the window and back to the bed, where Ginny was now sitting up, a serene smile on her face.

“Do you want me to take him?” she asked. “He’ll be hungry soon, and you need to sleep. It’s your birthday, after all.”

“In a bit,” said Harry. “When he starts getting fussy again.”

As if on cue, James began to whimper, and Ginny took him with ease.

“Are you hungry?” she cooed to James. “Do you want your milk? Should we get Daddy his present? Yeah? Okay, let’s go.”

As she headed out the bedroom door, she turned to Harry and told him to stay put so he didn’t spoil the surprise. Harry leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, content with the knowledge that although Ginny’s surprise would undoubtedly be fantastic, nothing would ever top the adorable squirming gift she already held in her arms.

* * *

Harry woke again to the gurgling of the baby and the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and realized that an hour or two must have passed given the light now flooding the room.

“Good morning,” said Ginny, leaning down to kiss him. “Happy birthday again.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, smiling sleepily at her, and then at James, who was staring at him with those big, almost confused eyes that all new babies seemed to have. 

“Say happy birthday to Daddy,” Ginny said, bouncing the baby slightly. James reached out his little hands, and Harry’s heart soared as he took him into his arms.

“Now, presents,” said Ginny. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny stopped him. “I know you’re going to say being with us is plenty, but _I_ think you deserve something else. In addition to the present you’re getting later,” she said with a wink.

She picked a box that Harry hadn’t noticed sitting on the nightstand and opened it. He looked inside.

“You baked?” he said. 

“If by ‘baked’ you mean ‘went to a bakery and picked out a cake good enough for you in an effort to make up for last year’s disaster but not so good that it seems I’m trying to upstage my mother’s efforts later this afternoon,’ then yes, yes I did.”

“That cake disaster was only partially your fault,” said Harry. “And making that cake was the most fun I’ve had in ages, so don’t go on feeling bad about it.”

“Well, you still deserve a make-up cake,” said Ginny. “And that’s not all.”

She reached under the bed and pulled out a small blue book with silver-grey pages that seemed to swirl and shimmer in the light, almost like the surface of a pensieve.

“It’s sort of a photo album,” she said. “Only it preserves your memories as real images instead of just camera pictures. That way, you can save memories from times you didn’t have a camera, or, if it’s a really important memory you can preserve it as realistically as you possibly can. Since we already have an album for James, I thought this one could just be yours. And you can add whichever memories you want.”

Harry reached out with his free arm and hugged her as tight as he could, burying his face in her neck.

“I thought you might like that,” she said when they broke apart. “James even picked out the color himself.”

“Did he now?” said Harry, grinning down at his son and stroking the soft skin of his cheek. James stared up at him, his eyes full of trust and wonder. Harry could get lost in those eyes forever.

When he looked back up at Ginny, her smile seemed brighter than usual and her eyes were shining.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just…I could get used to seeing you like this.”

Harry smiled back at her, and she came to sit next to him on the bed, wrapping her warm arms around him and holding him close as they both gazed down at their son.

As much as he always looked forward to celebrations at the Burrow, Harry knew his day could never get any better than it was right now, with his entire family safe and at peace in his arms. He was no longer the orphan, the unwanted child, the boy who lost as many people as he found, the Chosen One who always fought alone at the end. 

Now, he was Dad. That boy with no future lived firmly in the past. He had a child now, and as he gazed down into his son’s perfect face, he felt an overwhelming wave of certainty wash over him, rooted in love and memories alike, that seemed to say, in the faint whispers of his mum and his dad and everyone else: _This is the way things are supposed to be._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading to the end! I hope it wasn’t too soppy. Feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed it!
> 
> (I'm also on Tumblr! @femellerklem)


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